


Rebellion

by AvandraTheMarySueSlayer



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Gen, Imoen is STRONG, Prison disguised as mental health institution because Amn couldn't get any shittier, Rape and torture survival, Very subtle mentions of rape, Visions of the Future, mentions of mental illnesses, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer/pseuds/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer
Summary: Celebratory one-shot for Strangeness and Charm - Shadows of Amn reaching over 100 comments! Haunted by the memories of her time at Irenicus' dungeon, Imoen now languishes in her new prison at Spellhold. However, an unlikely meeting with one of her inmates will reveal something that will turn her dark thoughts around.





	Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, everyone! I'm so glad there's more than 100 comments on S&C, even if half are mine lmao! So I just decided to bring this little piece to you. I hope it does Imoen justice, as she is a beautiful and complex character that I love. Enjoy!

* * *

 

The bed linens were far too thin to keep her warm in the damp, cold nights. The cold sweat that covered her body after waking up from her recurring nightmares didn't help, either. The fabric of her pure white robe didn't do much, despite it being so long that it almost reached her feet. Hence, curling up into a trembling ball was all she could do to keep the cold at bay. She had always hated the cold. A long time ago, her friend Cat had taught her a mental exercise to help her bear with it; she just had to imagine she was in a searing hot place, like a desert, so she would come to welcome the cooler weather. Imagination could do wonders, especially when mixed with magic knowledge and minor illusion spells, but even if she hadn't been wearing magic-negating cuffs, her mind was too filled with horrors right then to even make the attempt. As long as _he_ was in the asylum with her, she would only be able to sleep with one eye open, no matter what the temperature was. Not that she had much time left, though. The Cowled Wizards would soon arrive to conduct whatever experiment they had in store for her that day.

 

Unlike the more violence-inclined inmates, Imoen wasn't exactly tortured, or at least the experiments she was submitted to didn't hurt her. After all, anything was better than what she suffered at the horrible dungeon she had been held captive in before. The most the wizards did to her as of late was casting a silence spell after her endless complaints about how unfair it was for her to be confined in that sanatorium wrecked their nerves. Soon after her “admission”, they did not let her get a word across before shushing her, so she was reduced to glaring at the mages while they examined her connection to the Weave and babbled nonsense about how naturally her energy flowed through it. She didn't care about any of it, she just wanted out!

 

But nobody listened, and nobody cared.

 

When she was first teleported to the sanatorium,, she had toyed with the idea of putting her rusty thieving skills to work, but in the moment she was taken to the prison, all her equipment, including her old trusty picklocks, was taken from her. She shivered at the memory because of what happened when the wizards tried to remove her belt.

 

_“Dammit! I have tried to remove the curse of this belt three times and it won’t work!” One of them complained._

 

_“Let me try,” another one volunteered._

 

_“Do not bother,” said a cold voice Imoen recognized all too well. “It was a safety measure that will not be needed anymore, and it responds to my command alone.”_

 

_Silence. Imoen could practically smell the fear on the wizards. They were not stupid._

 

_“Could you… remove it then… please?” The first mage asked with evident aprehension._

 

_“Of course. It has fulfilled its purpose already.”_

 

 _At the time, Imoen had been unable to address the fact that it had been_ him _, as she had suspected, who had put on her that belt which had prevented her from dying during some of the most painful experiments and torture he made her endure at his laboratory. When he walked in her direction, she involuntarily recoiled, holding her breath, but was immobilized by two Cowled Wizards. Without magic or weapons, there was no way she could free herself from their hold, which didn't stop her from squirming, her breath short, to try and get away from_ him. _Even if he was cuffed like her and couldn't use spells to torment her, he hadn't needed any of them in his dungeon for the worst things he made go through. Not taking his eyes from her once, he unbuckled the belt slowly._

 

_“I wish you could have enjoyed this gift for longer,” he said. “But you shall awaken soon, and these kind men have assured me you will not die during your stay in this place.”_

 

_In that moment, she really wished it wasn't so. He seized the belt and gave it to one of the scared wizards. Then, the other two let go of her._

 

 _It was the last time she saw_ him _, and every night, before her nightmare-filled sleep overtook her, she prayed to any god that would listen that she would not have to again._

 

“It is time. Get up.”

 

Snapping out of her memory and glad to have been interrupted before her mind could delve into darker places still, Imoen obeyed. She had quickly learned that any form of defiance to the Cowled Wizards had painful consequences. The first time she had tried to escape, one of them shot magic missiles at her that pierced through her skin, almost fracturing her tibia, and then took her to see the experiments that were carried out on violent subjects before giving her a potion of healing back at her cell, “so she could not say the Cowled Wizards were not generous with those who complied”. Even though it was a loving caress compared to the former months of her life, she did not wish for more torture, so she was reduced to complaining and complaining, to at least give their captors a headache. Well, at least until they preemptively casted silence on her, like the Cowled Wizard who woke her just did.

 

“Today you will have a session with an inmate,” the mage explained. “We wish to test her… unusual capabilities.”

 

Well, that was new. She had seen little of the other prisoners besides the day she was shown the magical torture the Cowled Wizards subjected them to, their screams of agony the lone proof of their existence otherwise. She had recognized the gnomish cleric of Cyric she and Cat had encountered at Baldur's Gate, yelling about how he would crush his captors to dust when he ruled. At the time, Imoen hadn't been all that surprised to know of his imprisonment inside an asylum for those whose magic had become “deranged”, –or at least that was its purpose according to the wizards’ words.

 

The mage guided her through endless hallways, all of them the same shade of white as her robe. She was beginning to hate the color. The first times she had been taken out for experimentation, she had tried to memorize the route, to find a path that could lead to an exit, but the place was a maze of endless crossroads of hallways that seemed to never end. Maybe it was an illusion crafted to prevent escape? She couldn't tell, not without her magic.

 

She hated feeling so helpless.

 

After a what felt like an eternity of walking –it was hard to tell the time in a place with no windows–, the wizard came to a stop at a cell. He opened the door and motioned Imoen to follow. In the furthest corner from the door, a woman was curled up in a ball, muttering something Imoen was unable to understand. Her face was partially covered by copper red waves, all knotted and unkept.

 

“Aphril,” the Cowled Wizard called in a commanding tone. “It is time for your session… and you have a visitor this time.”

 

The woman called Aphril slowly raised her face to look at Imoen with scared hazel eyes. She was beautiful, even though her stay at that wretched place had taken an obvious toll on her, judging from the dark circles under her eyes and her sunken cheeks.

 

“What do you want from me?” She moaned in anguish. “I always tell you everything I see and you are never satisfied, please leave me alone!”

 

“Not a chance,” the mage scoffed, ignoring the subsequent glare from Imoen. “One of the inmates has an interest in your sighting power. More precisely, if you can channel it to see other planes that might relate to others… like this girl.”

 

Imoen blinked in confusion. She didn't need to ask which inmate could want something like that from the poor woman, but what for? She had never left the Prime, what could _he_ possibly expect Aphril to see?

 

“Please, no, I don't want to see, I don't want to—”

 

“You will do as you are told, or do you want to take part in the _other_ experiments? Need I remind you how it turned out for you the last time?”

 

Imoen wanted to curse at the mage, to scream at him and attack him right on the spot. Maybe with Aphril's help, they'd be able to strangle him with their cuffs before he had time to cast spells… but then what? If that was a petition from _him_ , it meant she would have to confront him with no means to attack or defend herself. No, she couldn't, she _wouldn't_ fall into his clutches again. She had no option but to obey, even if it meant forcing Aphril to do so.

 

Fortunately for both of them, the captive mage nodded with a shudder, showing she would cooperate. Imoen turned to the other wizard in confusion, wondering what she was supposed to do.

 

“Sit beside me,” the woman requested in a soft voice, her pretty eyes filled with pity and a hint of dread. “I promise I won't hurt you.”

 

When it came to the experiment, Imoen was more worried about the woman's well-being than her own. Hesitant, she took a seat on the pristine cell floor beside her, flinching when her skin made contact with the cold surface. Aphril reached out with a hand and pressed her fingers on Imoen's forehead, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow in deep concentration. Soon, her face contorted in a scowl and she began to sob and scream, as if in excruciating pain. Imoen tried to yank her hand off her forehead, but it was as firmly planted there as if it had been glued.

 

And then, when her fingers touched the seeress’ skin, she _saw._

 

* * *

Aphril's shrieks brought Imoen back to the cell where they sat. The woman cradled her head in her hands, her fingers on her temples as she cried and blood poured from her nose.

 

“The skies are red, the sea is red, everything is red with blood; so much blood!”

 

“Oh, no, she's having one of her episodes again,” the Cowled Wizard muttered in annoyance, completely unperturbed by the fact that one of his prisoners was suffering a hemorrhage.

 

Imoen tried to reach out to Aphril, maybe to shake her shoulders and see if she would snap out of whatever horrors she was going through, but she shimmied away quicker than she could catch her, becoming even more unnerved. Was she scared of her? Or was it what she next described?

 

“A path of bones, a throne of blood, it's coming, it's coming!” She wailed.

 

“What plane are you at, Aphril?” The mage tried to coerce from the seeress.

 

“Death, murder, chaos…”

 

“Focus, Aphril, or this will hurt you even more!” The man commanded, readying a Melf's acid arrow. Imoen jumped to her feet.

 

“Stop it!”

 

Imoen covered her mouth with her hands in shock. Hadn't she been silenced? Why was she able to speak again so soon?

 

The answer looming behind her, at the entrance of the cell, made her blood run cold.

 

“It appears our seeress is feeling a little distressed… but you have made physical contact with her, which has allowed you to partake in her visions, is that not true?”

 

Hands closing into fists so tight that she could feel her nails piercing her skin, Imoen turned slowly, grudgingly, to finally face _him_ again.

 

 _So much for praying,_ she thought, bitter.

 

“What do you want from me?” She spat, even though she was shaking like a leaf.

 

“I merely wish to know what you both have seen,” _he_ replied in his emotionless, lifeless voice. “I suggested the fine wizards that run this institution to experiment with exposing our dear Aphril to new planes. Planes beyond the reach of mortals. Planes where only gods dwell.”

 

“Then why have you used me? I'm just a mortal from the Prime!” Imoen demanded to know, trying to fight the panic building inside her by replacing it with rage. Rage for everything he had done to her and her friends, rage for being locked up in that horrible place, rage for the fact that he was still in control and able to hurt innocent people like Aphril.

 

Rage, and a drive to kill. Just like before the Cowled Wizards took them to the sanatorium.

 

“Do you really not see the connections?” He asked with a note of interest in his tone that might have been genuine, had he not been dead and rotten inside. “No matter, you will understand soon enough. Now clear your thoughts. Visions can be hard to recollect. Tell me what you have seen.”

 

As Aphril kept rambling about death, Imoen realized that she could recognize some of the elements she described; the red sky, the path of bones, the throne of blood… she concentrated further, and noticed that she was not walking the path of bones alone; someone was beside her. She closed her eyes and saw it.

 

She saw figments of the future, and the truth. She saw who the other person on the way to the throne was, and what she was cut out to do. When she opened her eyes again, her fear was still present, but she managed to suffocate it with her newly acquired knowledge. She smiled in defiance at her tormentor.

 

“It’s too late for you,” she said. “You’ve already lost, and nothing you do will change that. So go on, do your worst to me, I have seen what's in store for you, and I promise everything you've already done, and whatever you do next, it will all be _nothing_ compared to what _she_ will do to you.”

 

The archmage came dangerously close to her, and she instinctively backed off to escape his horrid grasp. Was it a flicker of anger in his eyes? Or maybe… fear?

 

“Perhaps you just saw what you wished to see,” he whispered. “When my plan comes into fruition, there will be no hope for the fate that you describe.”

 

After their brief encounter, Imoen was taken back to her cell by the Cowled Wizard. She had been terrified, in fact she was still shaking uncontrollably, but now she knew Irenicus would fail, no matter how he denied it.

 

That was it.

 

Irenicus.

 

Thinking of his name didn't scare her anymore. The memories of her time in his dungeon were still engraved into her brain, marked with fire like a horseshoe, her skin still crawled at it all and she knew the scars he left, on the inside more so than the outside, were there to stay. But now, she knew what the place she saw was, and who walked beside her on the way to the throne. Despite his best efforts and whatever amount of pain he would make her and her loved ones endure, she knew he would fail in the end. Because even from a future still to come, the walker saw her peering over and smiled that knowing smile that had always managed to vanish all of Imoen's fears and doubts.

 

That knowledge set her free. Even if scared out of her mind, she was now ready to fight back; to endure whatever hardships may come at her. She was fractured, but not broken. While she still had her best friend by her side –and she knew she would come for her– she would never be broken. And when they were finally together again, Irenicus would regret ever laying a finger on them.

 

It was time to start her rebellion.

**Author's Note:**

> I wished to portray Imoen as a survivor, someone who is still going through the sequels of what happened to her at Irenicus' dungeon, but seeing a glimmer of hope in the vision she shared with Aphril. To me, she is first and foremost a survivor, and that is how I aim to portray her. I hope I didn't make her to seem already over everything she went through, just to give her something to hold on to and to fight for, because I will definitely follow through that journey towards recovery in Strangeness and Charm, in future chapters. So yes, this piece is related to that story, and so I think you can all guess who the walker beside her is. Please do tell me what you think of this, as I feel I have touched some very sensitive issues and I would like to know if I have done it right. I also wanted to be coherent with the enraged Imoen from the prologue ending, who attacks Irenicus and then gets abducted by the Cowled Wizards, so feedback about it would be very much appreciated.


End file.
